


Half In The Shadows

by SunSpell80



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Deaths, F/M, Future-fic, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Series, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Some Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-10 14:50:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17428004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunSpell80/pseuds/SunSpell80
Summary: Life can't ever be all bad or all good.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are other important characters in this story aside from Lydia and Stiles, but since it is their story I am not putting every character in the tags. Because people who click on the "Scott McCall" tag probably want stories about Scott McCall, no? 
> 
> Anyway, just assume that most major characters will be involved/mentioned in some way in this story.

"Sometimes," she says. "I think you like to suffer."

 

Stiles pauses at this, bacon halfway up to his mouth. He sets his fork down. Looks around.

 

"Am I going to be billed for this session?"

 

"Stiles."

 

"No seriously. Are you in my network? Because I can't afford the out-of network copay."

 

"Stiles," Lydia repeats, not-quite snapping. "Don't deflect."

 

"I'm just wondering where your armchair is."

 

She's unimpressed. "Have you gotten it out of your system yet? Because we have to talk about it."

 

His mouth parts. And for a moment, she thinks he's going to be honest with her. 

 

"So do you charge by the hour or by the minute?"

 

Lydia walks out of the kitchen. 

 

* * *

 

When they have time, they meal-prep on Sundays. They try to test out at least one new recipe a week, which they'll usually pack for lunch on Wednesday. And inevitably around 1 or 2 pm Lydia will get a text that either reads something along the lines of:

 

 _holy shit I'm going to marry this pasta seriously we need to go down to the Town Hall and get a divorce_  

 

or:

 

_on the toilet for the last twenty minutes. its bad_

 

or even just:

 

_meh_

  

Sometimes the text doesn't come but Lydia never worries because if he were dead she would know. It just means he forgot to eat his lunch, because he was busy or stressed or just doesn't care about himself enough to care for his needs. 

 

Lydia can't worry about that either.

 

She just sends him a simple text ( _how was it_ ) and he'll usually reply back in minutes ( _shit I forgot to eat thank you_ ). When he doesn't reply back right away she doesn't worry. She just closes her eyes and counts to ten and reminds herself to breathe.

 

* * *

  

When they have time, Friday night is game night. Somehow they've become one of those cliche couples who drink wine and invite their coupled neighbors over and play charades. Well, not usually charades because that's a little on the nose for Lydia's taste, but other similar couple-orientated games. 

 

"Not the  _worst_  way to die - "

 

"Sausages!"

 

"How." Their neighbor Margo exclaims flatly while Stiles whoops and Lydia preens. "The fuck did he get sausages from that?"

 

Stiles shrugs while Lydia adds the Taboo card to their ever-growing pile. "I guess I'm just an amazing detective-slash-genius."

 

On a mission in Brussels while staking out a restaurant with Liam and Scott, their target had seasoned the sausages they ordered with wolfsbane. Liam and Scott starting choking (and nearly turning) right at the table. Lydia and Stiles had to rush them into a nearby alley and nearly got their hands bitten off while shoving their fingers down the werewolves' throats.

After the ordeal, when all of them had been panting and leaning against the stone walls, Liam had turned to them and said:

 

"Honestly, I can think of worse ways to die than sausages." 

 

Margo pouts and shoots her half-asleep husband the stink eye. She's jealous.

 

There's a small part of Lydia that clocks it, the part that sometimes still catches herself comparing herself to other women. But she looks at Stiles across the coffee table and knows as much fun as it is to win, she doesn't need to prove anything. She'd be just as happy making a fool of herself, as long as she gets to see him like this, with that twinkle in his eye that makes him look 10 years younger.

 

When the game comes around to Stiles, he pulls his card and the corner of his mouth twitches. He looks her dead in the eye with the glee of a child.

 

"Jackson."

 

 _Damn him._ "Lizard."

 

* * *

  

When they don't have time, it's a rush to the airport. 

 

It's last-minute plane tickets added to their ever-growing credit card debt. 

 

It's Lydia sitting with her head between her knees and Stiles waving away the concerned flight attendant  _no she doesn't need a paper bag thank you_. Lydia doesn't even look at her but she can tell by her voice that she's older, a mother.

 

"It might just feel better if you let it out honey."

 

She just shakes her head between her knees, clutching Stiles's hand like a lifeline in her sticky palm. She can't let it out. 

 

It would kill everyone on the plane.

 

They're thirty minutes away from landing and Lydia knows she's not going to make it. She scrambles for her purse and feels rather than hears Stiles's sharp intake of breath. He doesn't protest, just straightens his body to shield her from the concerned gazes of onlookers.

 

Lydia locates the syringe and passes it to Stiles. He hesitates, glances to ensure no one is watching, then injects it into her arm.

 

Within minutes, the sedation hits Lydia before it hits the banshee. She feels it slowing down her rational thought and scrambles to wrest the control back, feels the scream clawing to escape from her throat. 

 

_We have to tell them. We have to warn them._

 

 _Okay,_ she tells the voices tiredly.  _Okay we'll warn them_.

 

She tries to lift herself up, arms trembling with the exhaustion of simply preparing to move. Stiles pulls her into his shoulder, rubbing her sweat-slicked hair and kissing her forehead, murmuring to her between kisses. 

 

"It's okay, it's okay, it's okay. You can make it. Just go to sleep. It's okay."

 

Lydia shakes her head. Or tries to. She's not sure.

 

She opens her mouth and he tenses. But the banshee doesn't have the strength to scream now. She can only whisper, so quietly she's not even sure he hears her

 

" _Kira_."

 

 

_One._

 

_Two._

 

_Three._

 

_Four._

 

 

_Five._

 

 

_Six._

 

 

 

_Seven._

 

 

 

 

_Eight._

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Nine._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very different style from me! (And also hi it's been a million years how are you all doing?)
> 
>  
> 
> I've had this story idea bouncing around in my head for a while. I hope you like it!


	2. Chapter 2

Lydia thinks about running and hiding.

 

Once. Just once.

 

She's sixteen and holding Jackson's hand as he makes his way through the check-in line at the airport. She thinks maybe if she holds it tight enough he won't be able to pry them apart. 

 

The official story is that Jackson's dad got a promotion in London he couldn't pass up. So he and his wife moved there at the beginning of the summer, and Jackson stayed in Beacon Hills over the summer so he could go to a lacrosse camp at UC Berkeley during the week.

 

The real story is that Jackson came clean to his parents about what had been going on with him for the last few months and his father had freaked out. So he begged his firm for a transfer, and moved his family as far away from Beacon Hills as possible. Jackson had been allowed to stay for the summer to train with Derek, only after he had busted a hole in their garage when his parents tried to keep him contained during his first full moon as a werewolf.

 

The check-in line is short because Jackson is flying first class, of course. He flashes a winning smile at the ticket agent and slides over his passport.

 

"Where are you traveling today?"

 

"London."

 

"Both of you?"

 

"Just me."

 

Lydia squeezes harder. 

 

She blinks and they're at the security line. Jackson looks at her. He leans in and kisses her deeply. Lydia throws herself into the kiss, like it will make him stay. But she already knows how ends.

 

Jackson pulls back. For the first time today he looks uncertain. "Lydia..."

 

"Stay-"

 

"Come with me."

 

Lydia wrinkles her brow. "Jackson, I can't go  _with_ you to London."

 

"Yes you can." Now he's the one gripping tight. "You and your mom can stay with us until you figure it out."

 

"My mom would never do that."

 

"She will if you tell her."

 

He's  _serious_. "You know there's werewolves in London, right? It's not all going to suddenly go away just because you're leaving." 

 

"No, but it's worse here. Derek says some places like this are more dangerous, places with more history, more supernatural creatures, more hunters. And with all the shit that just went down... there's definitely more coming. And when they do..."

 

Jackson swallows, closes his eyes.

 

"I don't want you here. Even if it's not with me. I just want you not here."

 

Lydia inhales deeply, presses her forehead to his chest. She nearly says yes.

 

But then she thinks about Scott. Sweet, protective Scott who just wants to keep everyone safe. And Stiles, who is bound to Beacon Hills by Scott and his father. And Allison, who would never run from a fight.

 

She lets go of Jackson's hand.

 

* * *

  

The sedative is still wearing off when they get to the motel. Stiles helps her into the shower, apologetically runs cool water over her hair to help her jolt back to awareness. 

 

She's curled up on the bed when she's finally ready to talk.

 

"Have they found her?"

 

Stiles turns away from his laptop. His eyes are red. "Yeah. Around two hours ago. I told you but... you were pretty out of it still." He rubs his face. "Malia found her."

 

"No." 

 

"Yeah. So now Scott and Theo are trying to track _her_ down. She fully shifted."

 

Lydia closes her eyes. When she opens them again, Stiles is there, curling around her body into a hug he needs as much as she does. His muscles are tense, bow strings that are waiting for release.

 

"Just tell me," she whispers.

 

Stiles sighs into her neck. "They don't know who or what did it. But whatever it was, it was strong because... it ripped her head off."

 

* * *

  

"And how is the battle of the closet space?"

 

"Ongoing." Lydia twirls a lock of hair around her finger as she speaks, and old habit she's never been able to quit. "My latest attack was to spray all my clothes with the perfume I'm pretty sure he's allergic to, so it's all over all  _his_ clothes as well."

 

"How's that going?"

 

"I've counted at least seventeen sneezes since I started yesterday morning, so I'm expecting a treaty soon. And then a retreat back into the dresser."

 

Kira laughs. "I don't even know why he tried."

 

"Because  _Lydia I deserve to have unwrinkled clothes too_ and  _Lydia I thought we were supposed to be equal partners in everything_. But then of course he ends up hanging them all wrong and half of them end up crumpled on the floor of the closet  _anyway_ and then he just  _puts them on_ -"

 

"I have to tell you something."

 

"Yes?" Lydia is instantly attentive. She's been waiting for this since Kira texted her  _can we Facetime please I really need to talk to you_. But of course when Lydia called Kira was too nervous to blurt it out, so Lydia was more than happy to regale her with tales of her and Stiles's adventures in co-habitation (a subject that is always amusing to their friends).

 

"So you know how a couple months ago Malia was in the area and she needed some help dealing with those ghouls?"

 

"Naturally."

 

"And then the skinwalkers took kind of a liking to her and she's sort of stuck around and been helping out and we've been spending time together and uh, I guess..."

 

"Oh." Lydia interrupts Kira's rambling. "You and  _Malia_?"

 

Kira visibly cringes. "I guess? Sort of? Yes? I know it's weird..."

 

"I never said that. I'm just surprised."

 

"No, it _is_ weird, because of Scott. I know."

 

Lydia purses her lips. "I mean... it sort of makes sense. It's hard to date someone who isn't in the know, so our dating pool isn't exactly large. Look at Stiles and Malia. And I kissed Scott."

 

"But that was years ago. Malia and Scott didn't break up that long ago."

 

Lydia tries a different tact. "Alright, if you think it's so weird... then why? Why be with her?"

 

"Because I love her." Kira blurts, then covers her mouth. "Oh fuck."

 

"You haven't told her."

 

" _God no_. I haven't told anyone. Except you. Please don't tell anyone. Even Stiles and _especially_ Scott."

 

"I won't. But I think Scott will be more okay with it than you think. He's moved on."

 

Kira sighs and rests her chin on her folded arms. "That's what I'm afraid of."

 

* * *

  

Malia doesn't make it to the funeral.

 

They spent days trying to track Malia, but eventually had to give up the search when the trail ran cold. Scott just came back to the motel and said "we have to go the funeral." Theo, for once, didn't have anything to say.

 

They have it in Beacon Hills, even though the skinwalkers buried Kira's body somewhere in New Mexico. Kira's family still lives in Beacon Hills. Looking at Noshiko's face, Lydia's not sure how long that will be the case.

 

Scott, to her left, hasn't said anything since they left New Mexico. He just stares at the casket, rubbing something in his pocket.

 

Stiles, to her right, is actively not looking at the casket. He looks around at all the faces. Locks eyes with Parrish, who gives him a sad smile before turning to one of his deputies who's trying to tell him something. 

 

When he looks back at Lydia, he's crying.

 

"We're losing, aren't we?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Kira. Her death is plot-related, I did not kill her off to create angst. Just an fyi.

**Author's Note:**

> Very different style from me! (And also hi it's been a million years how are you all doing?)
> 
>  
> 
> I've had this story idea bouncing around in my head for a while. I hope you like it!


End file.
